Two years of Melancholy


The thing with pain, is no one else knows how it feels. How it affects each one of us differently. How it strips away our joy and memories and leaves us with nothing.

No-one speaks about how it taints our relationships, our bodies and our perception of the world. Our conversations, our inability to accept the rawness and imperfections of those around us.

We spend each day, spreading hate, and negativity and forget that we all have pain in our lives. We give up on our friends for a mistake they may make, but we expect that same person to forgive us and love us for every time we wrong them.

We refuse to accept certain people because we feel they are not kind, we judge people without understanding their pain, their being and their mind. Even though we are unable to understand our own self. We do not listen to understand, but to argue, to respond, and are disappointed when we are not heard.

Humans have evolved into a species of hypocrites, of users, of temporary lovers. Our perception of those around us is heavily influenced by the toxicity in our own hearts. Our society has redefined the meaning of hypocrisy and smothered it all over mankind.

Once someone offers to help us, we are unable to see it as a gesture that comes from their heart, time taken from their day and love spoken in their language. Instead we forget to value their friendship. We are incapable of surrounding ourselves with those going through pain. In fear they will dampen our mood or ruin our night. Yet we expect the mentally ill to reach out for help. We refuse to be there for those who are suffering from pain, yet we do not understand why no one is willing to be there for us in time of need.

I have come to the belief that us human beings have forgotten what it means to be human. To love unconditionally, to respect one another, and to accept the actions of all those around us.

The safety, security and comfort that we all need in our lives becomes nothing to those around us, as we are all worried about ourselves. Yet a person standing up for their rights, being confident in themselves is confused with arrogance.

Two Years.

It’s been two years since the day I gave up, and this year, instead of being an anniversary to celebrate, it has become a cumulative sum of days of having had enough.

Things do not just get better, and these two years I have had the lowest of lows, but through this journey I have learnt so much more about myself and the true meaning of discrimination. Although I have the right people to guide me through this awful disorder, I have endured more pain than I have ever thought I would.

In the last two years, I have had to explain myself to strangers why there are articles of a missing woman that awfully looks like me. And been invalidated after being told its okay to be honest and to be open. I have been declined from opportunities because of my state of mind.

It’s been two years and I still struggle as much as I did back then. Those around me except time to be the healer of all pain. Sadly time itself does not heal cancer, and the same is true with melancholy.